


But You Spoke So I Could Understand

by zade



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Crush at First Sight, Cultural Differences, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, M/M, Major Character Injury, Murphy is a grounder, Post-Betrayal, Season 1, Trigedasleng, bellamy is a sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:38:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So here he was, frantically searching the forest for anything that spoke to Octavia’s whereabouts.  Well, that’s where he was in theory.  In practice, he was lost, it was getting dark, and the fall he had taken over a protruding root had bruised his thigh something awful, and his knee felt bloated and out of place and he could tell some part of his leg was bleeding sluggishly.</p>
<p>So where he actually was, was limping his way through the forest, lost, tired and hungry.  </p>
<p>for the prompt: Murphamy with grounder murphy, I am sorry it is massive</p>
            </blockquote>





	But You Spoke So I Could Understand

**Author's Note:**

> this comes with a SUPER LONG glossary of poorly translated trigedasleng in the END NOTES--please note tho, this fic is close on Bellamy, who is also trying to puzzle his way through trigedasleng, so those translations are not necessary to understanding the fic
> 
> warnings for: injury, mild gore?, brief descriptions of cauterization (less graphic than the show is always), language barrier, some culture differences, and this show's magical ability for people to make eye contact and form deep emotional bonds/crushes
> 
> beta'd several times by the infinitely patient [hateboners](www.hateboners.tumblr.com)
> 
> title from hypnotized by ani difranco

A small, honestly minuscule, part of Bellamy missed the Ark, because at least on the Ark, he always knew where Octavia was. He hadn’t realized how much of a problem she would be until she ran off with her grounder boyfriend, which he had not only not expected, but had realized he had sort of encouraged by stringing up Atom.

Hindsight, twenty twenty, as they said.

So here he was, frantically searching the forest for anything that spoke to Octavia’s whereabouts. Well, that’s where he was in theory. In practice, he was lost, it was getting dark, and the fall he had taken over a protruding root had bruised his thigh something awful, and his knee felt bloated and out of place and he could tell some part of his leg was bleeding sluggishly.

So where he actually was, was limping his way through the forest, lost, tired and hungry. He slipped again in the near darkness, hit the ground hard, shouted before he could cut himself off. God, he was so fucked. His leg was throbbing like nothing he had ever experienced before and there was no way the grounders hadn’t heard him scream.

However confined Octavia felt in their one room, it was not worth this, of that he was certain.

There was a rustle in the bushes by him, and he froze, certain he had given himself away, and he was going to end up captured and tortured and strung up like Jasper. He was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything in his life to deserve this.

Except possibly shooting Jaha. And pretending to be a guard. And bullying children into taking off their bracelets. And letting Charlotte kill someone.

Hindsight.

Slowly, whatever it was stepped out of the bushes, and in the not-quite complete darkness, Bellamy could see it was a in fact a grounder, because his luck had decreased from almost nothing to completely nothing.

He was barefaced, probably younger than Bellamy and his hair was braided and pulled away from his face, which was dirty, but his eyes were bright. So was the knife he had raised, as he crouched in a defensive position. “Chon yu bilaik?” he hissed, snarling at Bellamy like an animal.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bellamy replied tightly, trying not to wince as his leg spasmed painfully.

The grounder paused when he first spoke, then looked puzzled again. “Yu slip daun kom skai?” the grounder asked after a moment.

“Are you asking if I slipped because yes, yes I did.” He gestured at his leg. “I don’t usually go around bleeding like this.” Something about the language gap made him talkative, which was just as well, since the grounder seemed to be able to understand every fourth word or so.

The grounder still crouching, looked suddenly behind him, hearing something that Bellamy could not. Bellamy rolled his eyes and was about to say something just as unintelligible as everything he had said before when his leg twitched and his vision whited out.

He needed help. He pointed at himself and cleared his throat, and the grounder’s eyes shot to him. “Bellamy. I’m Bellamy.”

“Belomi,” the grounder repeated, and smiled sharply back at him and gestured emphatically at his own chest. “Ai laik Mofi.”

“Murphy?” Bellamy parroted, suddenly breathless as the pain hit again. The grounder nodded. “Okay, Murphy. Awesome. I’m looking for my sis—my sister, Octavia. And I’m hurt.”

Murphy turned his head, listening again for a moment before he spoke. “Yu sis?”

Bellamy nodded weakly. “Yeah, my sis.”

Murphy leaned forward and grabbed his jaw roughly. With Bellamy’s face trapped in his hand he spoke slowly, over-enunciating. “Sha, ai sis.”

And he had no idea what to do with that. Murphy said it again, louder, and gestured at Bellamy. Suddenly it clicked, and he had no idea how Octavia was managing if her boyfriend spoke as little English as his grounder did. “God, I’m fucking John Smith and you are a terrible Pocahontas. Sha, ai sis.” 

Murphy nodded. “Osir na lok yu sis op gon son op,” he said decisively, and reached to give Bellamy a hand up. 

This conversation had gone from terrifying and unintelligible, to baffling and still unintelligible, but he assumed it was at least a little bit of an upgrade. He grabbed the hand, grateful, right up until he had to put any pressure on his own leg, at which point Bellamy gasped loudly, squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for the world to stop swirling.

When he opened his eyes, Murphy was looking at him confused. “Belomi, masta ai op.” He reached out to help him up again and Bellamy took a selfish moment to commit to memory the way Murphy sounded saying his name, because it would absolutely feature in some of his fantasies to come.

“Wait, wait, I can’t.” Bellamy was embarrassingly panting, completely unable to catch his breath. He pointed at his leg, but the light was even dimmer than before. “I’m bleeding.” 

Murphy made no sign of understanding any of those words. With a sigh of frustration, Bellamy slowly took Murphy’s hand in his own and laid it upon his leg, which immediately burned, but from the dawning look of concern on Murphy’s face, he had managed to convey his injury.

That made it Bellamy, 1: universe, 1 billion.

“Yu jus?” Murphy asked, brow furrowed in concern. “Gaf fisa?

Bellamy sighed. “I am going to have a problem if you are calling my blood ‘juice’.”

“Yu jus?” he asked again, a little more forcefully this time.

“Sha,” Bellamy said, remembering vaguely his impromptu language lesson and feeling relatively sure that meant yes. “Ai jus.”

Murphy stood up and tugged at his hair. He looked furious, sneering at Bellamy. “Ai nou laik fisa!”

Bellamy tried to catch his breath, but he his leg was throbbing constantly now, and his vision kept unfocusing. How much blood had he lost? “I don’t know what that means. But I need help, please.”

Murphy considered him again, eyes more stuck on Bellamy’s leg than his face. After a moment he nodded sharply. “Masta ai op,” he said again and lifted Bellamy so he was more carrying him than guiding him.

The sudden change of position caused Bellamy’s vision to white out again. He realized he was screaming when he felt Murphy’s hand over his mouth. He sucked in a harsh breath, chest aching and leg twitching with little shocks of agony. He was hoisted up in what his guard training had taught him was a fireman’s carry, even though that was barely relevant terminology on the Ark, and even less so on the ground.

Murphy carried him until dark had settled firmly, then set him down beside a tree, that as far as Bellamy could see, was exactly like all the others. “Ste hir,” he said, which actually sounded entirely like English, so assuming it didn’t have some unexpected meaning, Bellamy was sure he could oblige.

“Ay, ay captain,” he said, and saluted weakly. Murphy glared at him, and Bellamy took a deep breath, remembering it maybe wasn’t such a good idea to irritate the very dangerous grounder, who was at least pretending to help him. “Ai ste hir?” he repeated carefully.

Murphy nodded, grinning at him again, a wide split open grin. “Sha,” and then scurried up the tree like a squirrel. 

Bellamy only kept himself from laughing, because he was in pain and worried about the heat that was radiating off of his thigh, but honestly, it was like Murphy had claws to dig into the bark and holy shit that was how the grounders kept getting the drop on them. They were hiding in trees.

He closed his eyes, tried to get a handle on his thoughts, but they buzzed around his head insistently, much like he had always imagined bees to do. He was honestly a little disappointed that he had spent so long on earth and had yet to see a freaking bee.

He was startled when a coil of rope landed squarely on his head, and looked up in time to see Murphy slide half way down the rope and then jump, landing in crouch on the ground.

He did another sweep, looking around for threats, of which Bellamy was sure there were plenty. “Gyon op,” Murphy whispered, and gestured at the rope.

Bellamy barely stopped himself from laughing. “I can’t. Even if both of my legs were working, which they are not, I can’t.”

Murphy considered him again, that same sneering look of disgust on his face. Bellamy was not surprised, really. At this point he had enough data to say definitively he would be a terrible grounder.

Murphy huffed and pulled him up angrily, literally growling when Bellamy groaned in pain. He guided Bellamy’s hand, one around his neck and the other under his arm and hitched his good leg up above Murphy’s hip.

“I am way too old for piggy back rides,” Bellamy muttered, but then instantly felt bad, when Murphy took a deep breath and began hauling them up the rope. This close to the tree, he could see little groves had been carved in the bark for his feet, but even so, it was slow going. 

Murphy was tense, breathing heavily, and Bellamy could feel how hard his arms and back were straining to lift them both up and he couldn’t imagine why Murphy was putting forth so much effort into helping him.

When they at last reached the top of the rope, Bellamy at first thought he was just meant to squat in a tree all night, which he couldn’t do on his best of days, but would be especially difficult (in a Certain Death-y kind of way) with only one leg. Then he saw, camouflaged in the tree branches, was sort of a tree-house, covered in strategic leaves and branches, so it looked like a part of the tree.

Murphy set him down on the wooden floor of the structure, and then scampered up the side and looked around again. He gathered up the rope, coiling it on the floor, then looked out the doorway in every direction he could.

Murphy was clearly even more paranoid than Bellamy, which was saying something. He decided to tell his new friend that. “You’re even more paranoid than me,” he said and wondered if the ground always felt like it was trembling beneath him.

Murphy was back at his side in a moment, frowning. He reached out to touch Bellamy’s forehead, and his hand was so wonderfully cold that Bellamy turned into it. When did he get so hot? Or…no, that too.

He lifted Bellamy and placed him on a pile of furs that Bellamy hadn’t even seen. Oh, then were would Murphy sleep? His mind got distractedly stuck on how it would feel with Murphy wrapped around him.

When he was young, he hadn’t understood why his mother had invited so many people into her bed. She had him, and Octavia, why did she need anyone else? After she was executed, and Octavia had been taken away, he had begun to understand. It was so empty in his head, even when he was with friends, and he would have tried anything to fill the void.

Sex was in many ways the easiest.

Murphy was saying something insistently in his ear but he couldn’t make any of it out, and he wouldn’t have understood any of it, anyway. He moved his hand away from Bellamy’s head, which was awful, and then covered his mouth, which was baffling, until his other hand reached down and start rooting around in his wound.

Bellamy was glad for the hand, then, because it stifled his shout considerably. Murphy lifted the bloodied hand to his mouth and tasted it, before spitting it out quickly.

“That’s what happens when you lick up blood, dude,” Bellamy muttered, laughing, still muffled by Murphy’s hand.

Murphy glared and turned away from Bellamy and struggling onto his elbows, he realized Murphy was stoking a small fire on a large, flat stone, that cast orange shadows about Murphy’s face, and Bellamy murmured, “Romantic,” before he’d even thought about it.

“Set yu daun,” Murphy authoritatively, before he physically knocked Bellamy’s arms down, so he was lying again. Murphy tilted his head, so Bellamy was staring up at him, then very seriously said, “Taim osir nou wada klin yu op, taim yu na stedaun.”

Bellamy felt like he was going to pass out any second. He had no idea what Murphy was saying to him, but he understood that look. He was in trouble. “I trust you,” he said.

Murphy held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded once sharply. He moved out of Bellamy’s view, and Bellamy wondered how big this structure actually was. When he came back, he had a wet, steaming cloth in one hand, the other was wrapped in several layers of cloth torn in ribbons. He pointed at his own mouth, then Bellamy, then the wrapped hand.

Bellamy had no idea, what that meant, but let Murphy put his heavily wrapped hand next to his mouth, and he reluctantly opened it when Murphy made a biting motion again.

He was immediately glad for Murphy’s hand to bite down on when Murphy began cleaning his wound with hardly any finesse and a heavy hand. He exhaled sharply when it was done, glad it was done, until he saw Murphy pull a orange glowing knife out of the fire. He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed Octavia for leaving the goddamn drop ship.

It hurt a lot more than he expected, and after the knife had been pressed against his flesh three times to seal the large gash, he was crying, and biting down so hard on Murphy’s hand he was sure there would be a bruise. Murphy put the knife down silent, tugged his hand from Bellamy’s mouth, and began wrapping the wound.

Bellamy could barely keep his eyes open, nauseous and exhausted. His body felt heavy and his head felt empty. He decided he should just give up on consciousness, when he felt Murphy’s hand resting on his cheek. He was still too warm, he should be concerned, he thought. With more effort than he thought it warranted, Bellamy opened his eyes to see Murphy, grinning wildly, brandishing his unwrapped hand, complete with a purpling circle of teeth marks.

“Sorry about that,” Bellamy rasped.

“Hod op,” Murphy said, and turned around to do something, Bellamy wasn’t sure, but he did know he felt immediately lacking for the loss of Murphy’s hand on his cheek. Murphy came back with a wooden cup, filled with water, and he braced Bellamy against his chest, and let him drink.

Bellamy was certain it was the best water he had ever had. 

Murphy helped him back down onto the furs and lay down across from him, arm cradling his head, and a knife lying between them.

It was worrisome, but only distantly. Bellamy couldn’t imagine Murphy going through all that effort to help him, only to kill him while he slept. It didn’t matter anyway, because Bellamy passed out before he could come to any real conclusions.

He was awoken in the middle of the night by Murphy’s hand across his mouth. He jolted awake, flexing his leg and couldn’t help but screaming. Murphy’s hand muffled the most of it, and when he opened his eyes, Murphy was crouched down, knife in his hand. He caught Bellamy’s eyes and lifted his knife hand to his mouth, making the universal “shhh” sound with it.

Bellamy was glad that that hadn’t changed in 90-something years.

He nodded his head in acknowledgment, and Murphy silently moved his hand. Bellamy waited, trying to hear whatever it was that had Murphy spooked. 

A rustle. There was a rustle just outside of the tree house. Bellamy froze, and watched Murphy perk up a little in his stance. The fire had almost burned itself out, but he could see the sudden stiffness in Murphy’s limbs and the tension in his jaw.

The rustling moved closer. Murphy slowly rose from a crouch and stepped towards the entry way. Bellamy wasn’t sure the last time he had taken a breath, but he was worried that his breathing would be too loud and alert whatever was rustling that he was there. Murphy was completely silent.

After the longest few minutes of his life, the rustling passed. Murphy stayed tense for a few minutes longer, cautious, Bellamy assumed, which he wouldn’t have thought of. He was still completely unused to earth. 

Murphy finally sagged, stepping back towards Bellamy. Bellamy’s chest ached and he took a few gasping breaths, feeling like an idiot.

Murphy collapsed next to him and whispered, “gonakru ste lok ai op. Em gaf frag ai op. Ai laik natrona.” His face was solemn, and even though Bellamy didn’t actually understand any of that, it sounded bad.

Bellamy reached out and grabbed Murphy’s hand. Murphy stiffened, and Bellamy was sure there was an enemy or that he had overstepped some boundary, and his head was pounding and his leg was throbbing, and he would have given almost anything to be back on the Ark with Octavia, as long as that didn’t include moving.

Murphy lay down next to him, and Bellamy turned slowly on to his side, so he could watch Murphy. Murphy gripped his hand back, and Bellamy’s heart fluttered. He resolved to do research to see if grounders had some sort of radiation induced pheromones that the Blakes were especially susceptible to.

“Ai gaf…” Murphy said softly, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Bellamy’s hand.

Oh god, he understood exactly what Octavia must have seen in her grounder boyfriend now. He wondered what the hell Jasper had done to get strung up, instead of getting a sexy new grounder friend. He pulled their hands close into his chest and was asleep again.

When he woke a second time, light was streaming in through the rooftop of leaves. He rolled over, reluctantly, and hissed in pain. He realized he had no idea where he was, or why his leg hurt.

“What the fuck?” He was so dizzy that for a moment he thought he might fall even though he wasn’t standing. He looked around the room. There were batteries and pieces of smoothed glass hanging from the roof on strings. In a corner, there was a charred piece of stone, charcoal remains on its surface. The next corner, a pile of clothing, and above it, a bucket of water and a shelf, filled with food in little baskets. Closest to him, a wood pile, and rope, that seemed to be tied to the base of the house and trailed out over a crude-cut doorway.

Did he find this place last night? He could barely think, he was so tired. He must have, when he was out looking for—Octavia! He threw the cover off himself and jumped to his feet. Or, at least, tried to. His right leg buckled, and he collapsed. “Fuck!” His leg was wrapped up. Had he done that, had he?

The rope swung slightly and Bellamy scuttled backwards on one leg to the corner of the room, breathing hard. Oh shit, had he not scoped this out? What was the point of hindsight if he didn’t learn from his mistakes.

A head popped up over the doorway, then a figure pulled himself up over the ledge. “Heya, Belomi,” he said, grinning. In one hand, he held a bloody knife and some meat that looked like it had been smoked. He threw the food and knife into the room and hauled himself up.

Murphy. Oh Jesus, that was right. Murphy had rescued him. And possibly come on to him? Or maybe he had imagined that. His head hurt. “Heya, Murphy,” he repeated, and Murphy nodded, clearly pleased.

Murphy settled himself on the floor and ripped a piece of meat off of the hunk, gesturing for Bellamy to do the same.

He took a piece, cautiously putting it in his mouth. Ah, yes, scaleypanther. His least favorite. Still, food was food, and he was ravenous. “Thanks,” he said, and when Murphy still looked confused, he tried gesturing first to the food, then to his mouth, then smiling awkwardly. “Thank you for the food.”

Murphy swallowed his mouthful of food. “Mochof gon dina.”

Bellamy sighed. “It’s breakfast, not dinner, but okay. Mochof gon dina.” Murphy nodded at him again in approval, and it made Bellamy feel warm. “Are you here all by yourself?”

Murphy scowled, clearly confused.

“Yu and ai and…?” he tried, gesturing around the room vaguely, like there was another grounder hiding beneath the floorboards.

Murphy’s eyes widened and then he shook his head. “No mou. Jos ai,” he said, which honestly sounded enough like the English that Bellamy knew, that he thought he understood.

“How come?”

“Haukom?” Murphy repeated, angry or upset or frustrated. His jaw was set tight and he turned away from Bellamy, facing the open door.

Bellamy reached out tentatively towards his hand, but stopped himself when Murphy pulled away angrily. “Okay. I’m sorry. New topic. Did you make these?” he asked, gesturing at the strings of shiny objects dangling from the ceiling.

Murphy turned back towards him, cautiously, like he might bite.

“Yu,” Bellamy said, pointing at Murphy, “make,” he mimed tying a string, poorly by his estimation, “these?” he pointed up at the decorations again, and felt his chest loosen slightly at the proud and slightly bashful look on Murphy’s face.

Murphy smiled, glancing up at him, then back towards the ground. “Sha.”

“They’re beautiful,” Bellamy said, and knowing no way of conveying that in grounder-speak, tried to convey it on his face. Judging by the almost tender smile on Murphy’s face, he had somewhat managed.

Murphy turned away suddenly, clearly embarrassed, and motioned at the sun, which had just started painting the sky pink. “Em laik son op. Osir na lok yu sis op, sha?” he asked? 

“My sister, I mean, ahh. Ai sis bilaik,” he paused. Did he know with? He didn’t think he did. “Bilaik with Lincoln?” he tried.

Murphy froze. “Linkon kom gonakru?” Bellamy didn’t think he understood enough to agree or disagree to that, so he shrugged, and waited for Murphy to slowly begin to move again. “Ai get in yu sis ste raun hir.” He watched Bellamy for a moment, then tore a piece of meat and threw it to Bellamy. “Choj fos.”

It turned out that getting down from the tree was even harder than getting up. 

Murphy went first, and braced Bellamy who had both hands on the rope and one foot on the tree and still had never felt less stable in his life. Every inch made him feel weaker and fuzzier. By the time they had made it down, both of Bellamy’s hands were rope burned, and he imagined Murphy was in even worse shape. Murphy climbed back up though, and once at the top, gathered the rope back up into his house. He climbed back down even faster than he had climbed up, Bellamy watching him the whole time. In the light of day, Murphy’s home was even harder to see than it had been at night. 

He lifted Bellamy, again, looping Bellamy’s arm over his shoulder, and hauling him quickly in some direction. Bellamy felt even worse than he had last night, hot and heavy and slow. Even so, he practiced all the words Murphy had taught him until he couldn’t. His brain felt like it was full of mud. 

Murphy seemed to sense this, and picked up the pace. He draped Bellamy all the way over his shoulders and moved as quickly as he could. It had been an hour or a day or a week since they started their trek, and when he put Bellamy down, it was all he could do to stay vertical.

Murphy was banging on a rock, which seemed irrational to Bellamy, but who knows, maybe Murphy had a friend rock who was going to help them. Murphy seemed like the kind of guy who would make friends with rocks. Draw faces on them and name them and everything. 

But then Lincoln was poking his head out of the rock and they were hissing at each other angrily, and Murphy had his knife out, which was especially laughable because Lincoln was brandishing an honest to god sword. He couldn’t make out a word past the rushing in his head, but even still, he could tell it wasn’t friendly. 

He could tell from the sudden tension in Lincoln’s arms that he meant to strike, and he weakly shoved Murphy out of the way and stood before Lincoln, terrified and unarmed. Murphy, who was behind him now, was hissing into his ear, but he ignored it. He had come here for a purpose, and despite the fear he felt in the path of Lincoln’s sword, he held his ground.

He had tortured this man, been merciless. He put his palms up in surrender, panting and leg threatening to buckle with every passing second. “Please, Lincoln. I just need my sister. It’s been four days, I just need to know that she’s okay.”

Lincoln turned around and called, “Octavia,” into the cave, and she appeared, cautious but smiling, a white flower tied to the braids in her hair.

Bellamy was so relieved to see her, safe and happy, that some of the tension left his body, and in that moment a spasm of pain pulled his feet out from under him, and he fell back, dimly aware that someone was catching him, that Octavia (and maybe someone else?) was saying his name.

When he finally forced his eyes open again, Octavia had him propped up on her knees, but he was pretty sure he was in a cave and he didn’t remember getting there.

Now that he had more than a moment to look at her, he saw that Octavia looked good, brilliant even. Happy, even in this clusterfuck of a situation. He liked her happy. She had earned it for every minute she had spent in the floor, cold and alone and scared. She had always been so brave, he was an idiot and a coward.

“Em gaf fisa!”

That was Murphy. Murphy was here? He looked around, struggling to raise himself up. Octavia made a noise of protest, but then braced him as he sat up. He was sweating and dizzy, but she was strong. She had always been so strong.

Once his vision cleared from triple to double, he could see Murphy standing with his hands chained, Lincoln’s sword keeping him in place. His head was tilted up, bearing his neck to Lincoln’s blade, and there was no way in hell he was going to let that happen.

“Murphy!” He tried to get up and instead collapsed, too dizzy and in pain, the world shifting under him like his own personal earthquake.

“Hod op,” Murphy hissed at him, and even though he still didn’t know the words, he sounded concerned. “Yu na led yu mou op.”

“Lincoln, he needs a healer, now,” Octavia said. 

“Mofi says there was poison in the wound.”

Bellamy frowned. “You speak English? Why doesn’t Murphy?”

Lincoln frowned. “I am a fighter and he is a hunter. He speaks only trigedasleng, like most of our village.” He turned to Octavia. “I have a friend in the village who can help. I’ll bring him with; this one,” and gestured to Murphy with a slight tilt of his head, “is to face the thauz kodon.”

Murphy froze, eyes wide and muscles tense, and Octavia inhaled sharply. Bellamy tugged at her shirt to get her attention. He felt like a child, naïve and slow. Like when he was little and still had a mother and a father, and sometimes when he asked them questions they would just laugh or smile, like there was universal joke that he just never understood. “What is that?”

Octavia swallowed, and he watched her face harden in a way that made him wish again that they were on the Ark, where he had never seen her face like that. “It’s an execution ritual they have for traitors. It’s…agonizing.”

“No,” Bellamy said. “Fuck that. He saved my life.”

“Your life is far from safe,” Lincoln replied tightly. “You need to see a healer.”

“So go get your healer,” Bellamy groaned. His leg ached so deeply he could feel it all the way up his leg and into his back. “But you’re not taking him.”

“What was his crime?” Octavia asked, suddenly a pragmatist.

Lincoln kept his eyes on Murphy, even as he spoke to Octavia, not moving his weapon. “He killed someone in retribution. Our Commander was lenient and banished him instead of killing him, but he was not to return. We thought he had gone to the sand. He was banished five years ago.”

Five years ago? Jesus, Murphy must have been just a kid back then. Maybe that’s why he had helped Bellamy. Maybe he was lonely. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Bellamy said, and tried to pull himself to his feet. He made it to a sitting-up position before he gave up.. “He was a kid, kids do stupid things.”

Lincoln narrowed his eyes at him, not angry, but considering. “Even kill?”

He thought about Charlotte, about the way Jaha had looked when he had pulled the trigger, about his mom floating into space—how easily he had given her up to save his own life. “Sometimes. When they have no other options.”

Murphy was still throughout the entire conversation, not that Bellamy blamed him. He had been nothing but kind, and his reward was a death sentence and three people talking about him in a language he didn’t understand.

“Beja,” Murphy said, “frag ai op, ba sis em au.”

“What’s he saying?” 

Lincoln scoffed. “He said he doesn’t care if I kill him, as long as I help you.”

Bellamy shook his head, but even that movement made his vision white out. “Nobody is killing anyone.” He thought he probably could have sounder more convincing.

“Belomi,” Murphy said beseechingly. “Beja.”

Octavia pushed his hair out his face gently, and even her gentle touch felt like a razor on his skin. “It means please. He’s saying please.” She turned to Lincoln. “He’s burning up. Please, we need your healer.”

“Octavia, I can’t let them kill him. Please.”

She looked between the three of them. “If you don’t tell your people, they won’t know that he was ever here. We can take him back with us, protect him.” She looked at Lincoln, all big batting eyes and set lips and he knew that look. Lincoln nodded. “Thank you. Can you get you your healer? Murphy, masta oso op hir.” She leaned into Bellamy and whispered, “Lincoln’s teaching me.”

She slid out from under him and lifted his shoulders, dragging him onto a cot. His thigh banged against something and he screamed, body seizing in pain.

When his vision cleared, Octavia was pacing around the cave, Lincoln was gone, and Murphy was sitting at his side, hands still chained, but grasping his. Everything hurt, he could barely breath, but Murphy was here, which meant Murphy wasn’t being killed, so that was a plus.

Octavia glanced at him and saw that he was conscious again. “If you want to take him with us, you have to ask him. In trigedasleng. You’re going to have be able to speak to him, even when I’m not there.” 

Bellamy felt like his head was in a fog, but he nodded. “Murphy.” Murphy’s head shot up, and he was crying. He squeezed Murphy’s hand in his. His head was still pounding. “Octavia, how do you say join? And people?”

“Glong op,” she said, pacing again. “And kru.”

“Murphy, yu glong op osir kru?”

“Yu glong oso kru op,” she corrected, mildly.

“Fuck yourself,” he grumbled at her, already losing his battle with consciousness.

“Ai no gona,” Murphy said urgently, recognizing that Bellamy was going to faint. “Ai hona. Haukom yu gaf ai glong yu kru raun?”

Octavia translated, “he says he’s a hunter, not a warrior, and then I think he asked why you want him to join.” 

Which one of them was more obtuse, really? Bellamy brought Murphy’s bound hands to his lips and kissed them. “Ai gaf yu,” he whispered, and the last thing he saw before his eyes closed was Murphy’s smile, spread wide and happy. Everything else could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> GLOSSARY:  
> Chon yu bilaik—who are you  
> Yu slip daun kom skai—did you come from the sky  
> Ai laik—I am (Y’ALL SHOULD KNOW THIS ONE)  
> Yu sis—your sister  
> Sha, ai sis—yes, my sister  
> Osir na lok yu sis op gon son op—we will look for you sister in the morning (son op is not TECHNICALLY morning, but it’s partial translation of another word that means drying, so I’m counting it)  
> masta ai op—follow me  
> Yu jus—your blood  
> Gaf fisa—(you) need a healer  
> Ai nou laik fisa—I’m not a healer (I wasn’t sure about the word placement on this one because they never use negatives in the show—could be ai laik nou as well?)  
> Ste hir—stay hir  
> Gyon op—get up  
> Set yu daun—sit down  
> Taim osir nou wada klin yu op, taim yu na stedaun—if we don’t clean you (r wound), then you will die (this one is probably very grammatically wrong but eh)  
> Hod op—stop  
> gonakru ste lok ai op. Em gaf frag ai op. Ai laik natrona—the fighters(warriors? warrior group?) are looking for me. They want to kill me. I am a traitor  
> Ai gaf—I want  
> Heya—hi  
> Mochof gon dina—thank you for the food  
> No mou. Jos ai—no more. just me.  
> Haukom—how come  
> Em laik son op. Osir na lok yu sis op, sha?—it’s morning. We’re going to look for your sister, yes?  
> Linkon kom gonakru—Lincoln from the warrior (group)  
> Ai get in yu sis ste raun hir—I know your sister is around here (sort of? This one is very grammatically questionable)  
> Choj fos—eat first  
> Em gaf fisa—he needs a healer  
> Yu na led yu mou op—you are going to hurt yourself more (I wasn’t sure if it should be yu mou op or yu op mou)  
> Beja—please  
> frag ai op, ba sis em au—kill me, but help him  
> masta oso op hir—follow us over here  
> Yu glong oso kru op—will you join our group  
> Ai no gona—I’m not a fighter (I wasn’t sure if it should be no ai or ai no because again, no negatives on the show)  
> Ai hona. Haukom yu gaf ai glong yu kru raun—I am a hunter. Why do you want me to join your group? (the word hunter hasn't been translated but since we got gona from gonplei, and we know hunting is honplei, i think hona could be right)  
> Ai gaf yu—I want you (gay)
> 
> I spent forever on this, come love/prompt/talk to me on [tumblr](www.racetrackthehiggins.tumblr.com)


End file.
